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A review by shroudofthesea
Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen
4.0
“Catherine Tekakwitha, who are you? Are you (1656-1680)? Is that enough?”
so i’ve been entranced by leonard cohen’s lyricism for nearly as long as i can remember, as is the typical response. beautiful losers reads like the best of leonard cohen songs, but without the music and long enough to overstay its welcome just a little bit. well, i shouldn’t say entirely without music—i discovered this book through buffy sainte-marie’s absolutely haunting “god is alive magic is afoot,” a musical setting of cohen’s words on p. 157 of my copy that feels so natural it’s hard to read the rest of the book and not feel a similar chanting rhythm at several points throughout. unfortunately, the spaces between this almost otherworldly sense of time, magic, and capital-h History are largely filled with some of the grossest sex scenes i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading and a whole lot of retreading of familiar ground. the narrator and his true love, F., are fascinating but not quite compelling enough to carry 240 pages. edith remains little more than a disturbingly oversexual depiction of an indigenous woman. catherine tekakwitha is treated with a little more compassion, but not quite full humanity. still, i found myself unable to read any part of this book for very long without reaching for a pen so i could underline some phrase that chilled me to the bone. unsettling, invigorating, and an absolutely hilarious thing to read while approaching a diagnosis of IBS-C.
“A huge jukebox played a sleepy tune. The tune was a couple of thousand years old and we danced to it with our eyes closed. The tune was called History and we loved it.”
so i’ve been entranced by leonard cohen’s lyricism for nearly as long as i can remember, as is the typical response. beautiful losers reads like the best of leonard cohen songs, but without the music and long enough to overstay its welcome just a little bit. well, i shouldn’t say entirely without music—i discovered this book through buffy sainte-marie’s absolutely haunting “god is alive magic is afoot,” a musical setting of cohen’s words on p. 157 of my copy that feels so natural it’s hard to read the rest of the book and not feel a similar chanting rhythm at several points throughout. unfortunately, the spaces between this almost otherworldly sense of time, magic, and capital-h History are largely filled with some of the grossest sex scenes i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading and a whole lot of retreading of familiar ground. the narrator and his true love, F., are fascinating but not quite compelling enough to carry 240 pages. edith remains little more than a disturbingly oversexual depiction of an indigenous woman. catherine tekakwitha is treated with a little more compassion, but not quite full humanity. still, i found myself unable to read any part of this book for very long without reaching for a pen so i could underline some phrase that chilled me to the bone. unsettling, invigorating, and an absolutely hilarious thing to read while approaching a diagnosis of IBS-C.
“A huge jukebox played a sleepy tune. The tune was a couple of thousand years old and we danced to it with our eyes closed. The tune was called History and we loved it.”